Martha shook her head, and Callie laughed. ‘‘Honey, you’ll have to ask Chloe. She probably does, her daddy’s bought her enough of them. But I don’t know any of their names, and I don’t think Martha does, either.’’
Martha shook her head again. ‘‘They all look alike to me.’’
‘‘Finish eating, Sara,’’ Olivia interposed quietly. It would be wonderful if, by talking Beanie Babies, Sara and Chloe could connect. On the other hand, she had seen enough of Chloe in action to be just slightly skeptical.
The telephone rang.
‘‘I’ll get it.’’ With a quick glance at Callie, Martha pushed her chair back. Getting to her feet, she moved quickly toward the butler’s pantry. The phone had just started to ring for a third time when Martha picked up the receiver.
‘‘LaAngelle Plantation,’’ she said, then listened. After a minute she covered the voice piece with her hand and looked at Callie. ‘‘It’s Mr. Seth calling from the hospital. He wants to talk to you.’’
A worried frown creased Callie’s brow at the news. Standing up, she crossed to the butler’s pantry and took the phone Martha held out to her. The conversation was brief, but Olivia could tell it contained bad news, not so much from what Callie said, which wasn’t much, but from her reaction. Her face went gray beneath the carefully applied blush, and she sagged against the doorjamb.
Hanging up, Callie stood motionless for a moment, then turned back to find the eyes of everyone in the kitchen fixed on her.
‘‘Big John’s had a stroke,’’ she said heavily. ‘‘He was recovering from the heart attack well, but now he’s had a stroke. Seth says it’s serious. But he says I should stay home, and not come to the hospital, because Big John doesn’t know anybody, and there’s nothing any of us can do.’’
‘‘Oh, no.’’ Olivia’s hand flew to cover her mouth, then dropped. Her stomach lurched, and she felt suddenly queasy. ‘‘Oh, no.’’
‘‘Mr. Seth’s right,’’ Martha said firmly to Callie. ‘‘It won’t help Mr. Archer if you go making yourself sicker.’’
‘‘He wants me to call David again and tell him he needs to come home.’’ Callie’s voice sounded hollow. ‘‘Right now.’’
‘‘Oh, no,’’ Olivia said again. David was Big John’s second-youngest child and sole surviving son. He lived in San Diego, where he owned and ran a restaurant called Barney’s. Olivia had always liked him, and he had been kind to her whenever they met. But that was infrequently, because Big John and his third son were like oil and water. Whenever either one of them could possibly avoid it, they did not mix.
If Seth was asking his mother to summon David right now, then Big John must be on the brink of death.
CHAPTER 16
NO MATTER WHAT MARTHA OR OLIVIA SAID to dissuade her, Callie insisted on going to the hospital. Olivia was elected to drive her despite Callie’s protests that she was perfectly capable of going alone. Martha and Olivia agreed that Callie’s health was too uncertain for her to safely drive herself. Martha needed to stay at the house because chances were that Mallory would drop Chloe off before Callie returned, and the consensus of those who knew her well was that Chloe would behave better with someone acquainted with her quirks. Sara would stay with Martha. Olivia wasn’t perfectly happy with this arrangement—she didn’t like leaving Sara in a strange environment, with someone who was to all intents and purposes a stranger to her, and the prospect of Chloe returning home anytime soon did not help—but she felt a strong need to be at Big John’s bedside herself in this moment of crisis. Or, if not exactly at his bedside, at least in the waiting room outside, if that was as close as she could get.
Never mind that some members of the family might not want her there.
In her heart, Big John was her family, whether or not she was his.
She left Sara in the kitchen with Martha. The two of them were happily contemplating making peach ice cream with the old-fashioned ice cream maker that had been in the family for decades. Having had no idea that making ice cream at home was even possible, Sara, an equal opportunity devotee of Baskin-Robbins and Dairy Queen and every other ice cream parlor to come down the path, was wide-eyed with wonder as Martha wrapped an apron around her waist and started setting out the supplies they would need.
‘‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’’ Olivia dropped a quick kiss on Sara’s cheek on her way out the back door.
‘‘I’ll be okay,’’ Sara said. ‘‘Don’t worry about me, Mom.’’
It struck Olivia how very adult she sounded, almost as if she were the parent reassuring the child. Not for the first time, Olivia reflected on how very different Sara’s childhood was from her own. With no extended family, limited financial resources, and more worries than an eight-year-old should be aware of, Sara had been forced to grow up fast. Maybe too fast.
Or maybe not. Maybe being a little more mature than her mother would stand her in good stead. Maybe, at least, it would keep her from repeating some of Olivia’s own mistakes. Olivia fervently hoped so.
‘‘Sara seems like the sweetest little girl,’’ Callie remarked in the car on the way to the hospital. They were traveling south on Highway 415 in Callie’s navy-blue Lincoln Town Car, one of the older models that was as big as a boat, with Olivia behind the wheel. On the east side of the raised, two-lane road was the brackish water of a freshwater swamp, where cattails, alligator grass, and marsh elders grew higher than the levee that held back the Mississippi River. On the west, enterprising farmers had taken advantage of the swampy conditions to grow rice and raise crawfish. Flooded fields stretched as far as the eye could see. ‘‘Is she always that good?’’
‘‘Sara is a sweetheart,’’ Olivia said with conviction. The putrid smell of rotting vegetation that was as much a part of the swamps as mud was starting to creep inside the car, so she cranked up the air-conditioning a notch, hoping to defeat the increasing heat and the smell at the same time. Outside, from a cloudless blue sky, the sun beat down relentlessly, raising heat shimmers on the pavement in front of the car and pouring through the windows, making the navy leather upholstery burningly hot in places. Olivia shifted uncomfortably as her bare legs stuck to the seat. ‘‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’’
‘‘It’s obvious you’ve done a good job mothering her.’’ Callie sighed. ‘‘I just wish Chloe had been as lucky. Seth has tried his best, and so have I, but . . .’’ Her voice trailed off. ‘‘Well, I don’t guess Jennifer was any great shakes as a mother anyway, so she’s no real loss.’’
‘‘I can’t take too much credit for Sara. She has been as good as gold from the time she was born. Even as a tiny baby, she only cried when she needed something. As a toddler she never went through the terrible twos, never threw tantrums. I have never had a complaint about her behavior from a teacher or a baby-sitter or anyone. I think being good just must be in her nature.’’
‘‘She doesn’t take after you much, then, does she?’’ Callie sent her a sudden, teasing smile that reminded Olivia of Seth. ‘‘I can remember you throwing some ungodly tantrums when you were a little bitty girl. I used to think Selena was a saint for dealing with you so patiently. She never spanked you, you know. Not even when Big John told her she should.’’
‘‘Big John told her to spank me?’’ Olivia took her eyes off the road to glance in surprise at Callie. It was hard to imagine Big John paying any attention whatsoever to child-rearing matters. It was even harder for her to formulate an image of how she and her mother must have been together. All she had was the mental equivalent of a few hazy snapshots of the two of them, although over the last twenty-four hours, since coming home to LaAngelle Plantation, she felt more connected to her mother than she ever remembered feeling in her life. It was almost as if, in this place where Selena had lived and died, some essence of her remained and was reaching out to her daughter.
‘‘I think it was after you threw a plate of spaghetti at the table in the midst of a temper fit. We had guests at
the time, and noodles and sauce flew all over them. Big John yelled at you and at your mother for not disciplining you better, but she looked him in the eye and said she would raise her own child, thank you very much, and then picked you up, screams and all, and walked away. I admired her for that. Standing up to Big John took real courage in those days. But Selena was never meek. She was quiet, and careful to be respectful of her elders, but if you pushed her she had quite a temper. And God help anybody who did something she didn’t like to you.’’
Olivia was silent for a moment, feeling a sudden tightness in her throat as shadows of memories danced along the edge of her consciousness. None was specific. What stood out suddenly was an overwhelming sense of feeling loved. My mother loved me, she thought, and as she acknowledged that the constriction in her throat increased. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and swallowed again. Finally she managed to say in a near-normal voice, ‘‘You know, I don’t really remember much about my mother.’’
Callie glanced at her. ‘‘I’m not surprised. You were only six years old when she . . . died.’’
That brief hesitation did not escape Olivia’s notice. Had Callie been about to say something else? There were so many questions Olivia wanted to ask, but this was not the time, or the place. Her emotions were already running too high.
If she talked any more about her mother, she feared she would cry. Which, under the circumstances, Callie didn’t need to have to deal with.
‘‘Tell me about the plans for Seth and Mallory’s wedding,’’ Olivia said a little too brightly, changing the subject. ‘‘Is it going to be held at St. Luke’s?’’
St. Luke’s was the Episcopal church in LaAngelle. Founded in 1837, it was almost as old as the town. The Archers had been mainstays of the congregation for generations.
Callie shook her head, smiling. ‘‘Mallory’s expecting about five hundred guests, so that lets St. Luke’s out. It’s too small. The ceremony’s going to be at St. Bartholomew’s in Baton Rouge, and the reception will be held at the Baton Rouge Country Club. Mallory’s having a ball planning everything, but I think Seth would prefer something a shade less elaborate. He hasn’t said anything, but I know him. He’s starting to get nervous.’’
‘‘Is he?’’ Olivia smiled, too, at the idea of Seth’s suffering from prewedding jitters.
‘‘This is hard on Seth, you know.’’ Callie’s tone turned suddenly serious. ‘‘My cancer, I mean. He’s a fixer. Anything that’s wrong, any problem that anybody has, he tries to fix it. But he can’t fix this.’’
Olivia didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, the turnoff into Baton Rouge loomed just ahead, and the topic was lost as she concentrated on getting over the long, crowded bridge that spanned the Mississippi River and into the city.
The Intensive Care Unit was on the fourth floor of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. By the time she stepped off the elevator, Olivia was already starting to shiver from the air-conditioning. Before coming, she had changed her shorts for a more appropriate knee-length denim wrap skirt. With it she wore a white T-shirt and brown strappy sandals. Even without panty hose—it was too hot for extraneous pieces of clothing—the outfit had felt almost too warm for the smothering heat outside. Inside, it was barely adequate. She found herself envying Callie, who’d had the foresight to bring a very pretty white cardigan, and had put it on over her slacks and blouse within minutes of entering the hospital.
‘‘I hope we’re not walking into more bad news,’’ Callie murmured, curling a hand around Olivia’s elbow as they walked past the busy nurses’ station toward the Intensive Care Unit. Callie’s fingers were cold, and felt almost skeletal as they pressed into Olivia’s skin. She was reminded once again that Callie was gravely ill, and covered the older woman’s hand protectively with her own.
‘‘Seth only called an hour ago.’’ Olivia glanced sideways as a green-coated orderly pushed a hospital bed past them. The rubber wheels squeaked over the slick gray-speckled terrazzo floor. Motionless on the bed lay an emaciated woman with disordered tufts of sparse white hair. Her eyes were closed and her face was turned away. An IV bag dangled from a metal pole attached to the bed. Its contents dripped down a clear tube into the woman’s arm.
Callie took one look and averted her gaze. Olivia could feel her aunt’s shudder.
Of fear? Olivia was quite certain that Callie was imagining herself sharing the woman’s fate.
‘‘Oh, Callie, you shouldn’t have come!’’ Dressed in a celery-green summer pantsuit, her short auburn hair meticulously sprayed into place but her face pale and tired, Belinda Vernon was coming down the hall toward them. Both hands were outstretched toward Callie. Behind her, a sign marked WAITING ROOM hung above an open door to the left. Phillip Vernon walked out that door, glanced after his mother, spotted Callie and Olivia, and headed toward them, too. At the very end of the hall was the Intensive Care Unit.
Wide double doors of blond wood and metal were closed, and bore a sign warning NO ADMITTANCE: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
‘‘You know I had to,’’ Callie said, embracing Belinda. ‘‘How is he?’’
‘‘Not good.’’ There was pain in Belinda’s voice. ‘‘They’re doing everything they can for him, but Charlie says all we can do now is pray.’’
‘‘Hello, Olivia,’’ Phillip said in a subdued tone, coming up to stand beside his mother. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue dress shirt tucked into khaki slacks. His dark brown hair was neatly combed, and he was freshly shaved. Obviously both he and his mother had managed to shower and change since the events of the previous night, and Olivia assumed they had gotten a few hours of sleep, too.
Olivia echoed Phillip’s greeting as Callie and Belinda broke apart. Belinda’s gaze then alighted on Olivia, and she nodded without speaking. Civil but not friendly, Olivia thought. Well, she could live with that.
‘‘Mom, it’s your turn.’’ Telephone receiver in hand, Carl poked his head out of the waiting room door, glancing down the hall toward his mother. He disappeared back inside for a moment, then emerged into the hall sans telephone. Like Phillip, his elder by three years, Carl wore khaki pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt, though his was white. Also like Phillip, he was stocky and blue-eyed with dark brown hair. As a youth he had been mischievous, prone to teasing and pranks, and it was he who had thrown her into the lake. Despite that, Olivia had always liked him, and he greeted her now with a quick hug and a smile.
‘‘We can only go in one at a time,’’ Belinda explained to Callie as the whole group began to move in the direction of the Intensive Care Unit. ‘‘It doesn’t really matter. Daddy doesn’t seem to know anybody anyway.’’
‘‘I’m sure some part of him senses you’re here and is comforted,’’ Callie said. One of the double doors to the Intensive Care Unit swung outward, and Seth walked into the hall, talking to someone over his shoulder all the while. He paused for a moment, finishing his conversation, then glanced their way. Frowning, he moved toward them, and the door swung shut behind him.
‘‘How is he?’’ Belinda asked as he joined him.
Seth shook his head at her. ‘‘No change.’’ His glance slid past her to touch on his mother and Olivia, and his lips tightened. ‘‘Mother, you shouldn’t have come.’’
‘‘I told her that,’’ Belinda said.
‘‘I wanted to,’’ Callie answered with quiet dignity. ‘‘Big John is my father-in-law, and he is as dear to me as my own father was. Of course I came.’’
‘‘You have to think of yourself, Mother.’’ Seth sounded grim. He glanced at Belinda. ‘‘I know it’s your turn to sit with him for a while, but would you mind letting her go in now, for just a minute, so that she can go back home? With the chemotherapy, her immune system is weakened, and she particularly needs to stay out of hospitals, which, for some reason I can’t begin to fathom, tend to harbor a whole spectrum of really nasty germs.’’
‘‘Who told you that my immune system is weakened?’’ Callie demanded cha
llengingly, sounding surprised and a little defensive.
‘‘I’ve been talking to your doctors.’’
‘‘They have no business telling you anything without my permission!’’
‘‘Maybe they think you need a keeper, Mother.’’
Mother and son exchanged measuring looks.
‘‘You go ahead in, Callie,’’ Belinda said, drawing their attention. ‘‘Seth is right. You should head back home just as quick as you can.’’
‘‘Seth is too bossy,’’ Callie muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, but allowed Seth to take her arm and escort her to the door of the Intensive Care Unit. He pulled it open, said something briefly to someone inside, and then, as Callie disappeared within, stepped back out into the corridor.
‘‘You weren’t planning on seeing my father, I hope?’’ Belinda asked Olivia as Seth came toward them. ‘‘Since the sight of you is what made him collapse in the first place, I just can’t permit it. I’m sure you understand.’’
Olivia nodded unhappily. She did understand, however unpleasant she might find Belinda’s edict. After all, if the sight of her had brought on Big John’s heart attack, her presence at his bedside was the last thing he needed until he was perfectly cognizant of who she was—and wasn’t. Anyway, if he didn’t know anyone, it didn’t matter, did it? She had just hoped to get a chance to mend fences with him while she still could.
‘‘That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?’’ Carl protested, giving his mother a reproving look.
‘‘It’s all right, Carl. I really only came to drive Aunt Callie,’’ Olivia said.
Joining them, Seth lifted his eyebrows inquiringly as he caught the tail end of the conversation.
‘‘You can’t blame Olivia for the old man’s heart attack,’’ Phillip added, talking to his mother.
‘‘No, you can’t,’’ Seth said, surprising Olivia, who was sure he did blame her for it. He fixed his aunt with a steady gaze. ‘‘You know as well as I do that Big John could have had a heart attack at any time, for any reason. Or no reason. What happened wasn’t Olivia’s fault.’’
Ghost Moon Page 11
